


Inosculation of Two Souls

by Rirren



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Codependency, Half-Sibling Incest, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Mental Instability, Mutual Non-Con, Self-Harm, Sleep Deprivation, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-26 18:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12563272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rirren/pseuds/Rirren
Summary: Trapped together for centuries in the cage, Sam and Adam wrap around each other like inosculating branches of two different trees.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to fioreitaliano and Alyndra for their cheerleading and alpha reading. I wouldn't have been able to finish this fic without them, let alone to such a length.  
> And thanks to Alyndra for also doing a great job beta reading!
> 
> Written for [this kink meme prompt](https://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/83218.html?thread=44488210#t44488210).

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". 

What a load of bullshit. Nothing can kill them in here. They're going to live forever. But everything Sam and Adam go through chips away at them. Adam can see it. Whenever Sam makes it through another round of torture his soul is slimmer and diminished, worn away by the ordeal. He is less the man he was before, less happy, less confident, less sure of himself and the world, less in every way. And if it keeps going there will be nothing left of him, nothing recognizably a person, let alone the man he is. 

They're both headed towards the same end, but Sam is getting there quicker.

\- - -

The angels mostly leave him alone. Michael sees him as nothing more than a useless human, a poor replacement for the real Righteous Man. Lucifer is far too occupied with fighting his old rival Michael or punishing Sam for locking them in here, but he attacks Adam if he sees him—taking out his anger on a new soul is always entertaining to him.

But when the four of them fell together, Adam was caught up in the angels' rage, both of them lashing out, furious at being trapped, tricked by a human. His body would first be burnt down to weeping muscle by the searing heat of Michael, then frozen by the icy cold of Lucifer. Again and again. Those first years were full of pain beyond anything he had ever experienced, and he begged and screamed for an end, but to no avail.

When at last he gets out of the epicenter of Lucifer and Michael's rage, he runs as far as he can, seeking out a way out. But whichever direction he goes always leads him back to where he came. He's an ant running on a giant ball, never able to leave it. He skirts the edges, staying as far away as he can but he either runs too fast or not fast enough, and the screams and the horrible wet ripping sounds inevitably find him again.

His body is a terrifying burnt monstrosity; his skin cracks every time he moves, bone and muscle exposed and weeping pus. He can barely process what he's become; he would weep but his eyelids and tear glands have been burnt away. 

After some time, to his shock, his body actually begins to heal, not scar tissue but new skin eventually growing back, pink and perfect and beautiful. He doesn't know if he's actually dead or not—it feels too concretely painful for existence as only a soul, but he's survived things that would have killed his body a thousand times over.

He spends the next ... years? Decades? ... period of time like this—on his own, moving when he needs to, lying down and resting when he can. He doesn't need to sleep, or eat, or shit, but pain and exhaustion are still present, even down here. His soul feels old and worn out, and he's shocked when he looks down at his hands and sees the same youthful skin he had when he was pulled down here.

He's been dead before, and he wonders if he can make things happen with his mind, the same way he could in Heaven. He tries conjuring up things with just a thought, but nothing happens. There are no easy shortcuts in Hell. 

He curses the angels for lying to him: Sam, Dean and his no-good absent father for involving him in their family's mess, and God for leaving him in here. He prays under his breath, huddled up as he tries to hide— _Please let me out, I didn't do anything, you can leave Sam, just let me out, I'll be good_ —and several times tries to convince himself that none of this is real, he's still just asleep at home, safe in his bed.

Time passes. Lucifer's tactics seem to have changed. The uncontrolled rage from the beginning has dissipated; something more controlled has replaced it. Adam ventures a little closer.

Lucifer is bent over something. He still has the appearance of his true vessel, but he seems taller with harsher lines, and a glow emanates from his skin that stings Adam's eyes to look at. His bare feet are wet, splashed with red from the puddle he's standing in. Adam's eyes track down to the mass under his hands, his undergraduate medical knowledge picking out something that looks like a patella, an inflamed slice of sinew … he shuts his eyes when he realizes what he's looking at.

"Come on, Sam, just talk to me. I love hearing your voice."

There's a horrible wet gasp, and a choked cry that is quickly swallowed. Lucifer tuts in disappointment. 

Adam runs when Lucifer starts on something that makes Sam's sobbing breaths cut off into a wordless keen that quickly rises. It echoes in Adam's mind when he's finally away. 

Stupid, idiotic hero Sam was still resisting.

\- - -

The cold void of the Cage changed at some point—he doesn't know when—to something more familiar: freezing snow under his bare feet, wind blowing shards of ice in his face. It's sloped like a mountaintop, or maybe a ravine, but it's difficult to see with the blizzard of ice and murky light. He wonders if the increasing cold means Lucifer has gained the upper hand over Michael.

Inevitably, he accidentally wanders close enough to hear clearly.

"No, no, take it out! Please, please, don't—I'll do it. Yes!"

"Yes?" A laugh—Lucifer's voice twisting in the air like smoke. "It's too late for that, Sam. You missed your chance."

"S— _stop! _Please—I'll do anything—"__

__"Don't you understand yet? There's nothing that will stop this, no deal we can make. You're not getting an out like Dean had. It's this for eternity."_ _

____

\- - -

Sam has given in.

Adam is talking to his mum, imagining a conversation as he often does. Maybe it's a healthy way to cope with the isolation, or maybe it's the first sign of him losing his mind. 

_"He can't hold on forever, Adam."_

"I know he can't, mom."

_"He's out there, distracting Satan to protect you."_

"Like fuck he is. This is all his fault. And besides, if he's given in, he's not protecting me. He'll give me up to stop the pain."

Maybe his mom wouldn't respond like that, maybe she'd say that he needs to look out for himself first: but Adam's tired of this suddenly. He's talking to no-one except himself, all his lines clever and made-up so he always wins the argument.

\- - -

God can go fuck himself. There is no fucking God.

Michael caught up with Adam, furious for some unfathomable reason. He pulled Adam apart, and violated him, hissing that God was punishing Adam, that Adam was an abomination and that this was what he, and all of humankind, deserved. 

Adam spits blood on the snow, sneers, and limps along, his crushed knee not letting him go faster than a shuffle.

Michael is wrong. God isn't punishing him. God isn't doing anything because there is no God. Evil does evil and there's no Almighty to save them.

Adam trips and falls hard. He snarls and punches the ground. His fist hits a rock buried underneath and the sharp pain makes him scream in frustration. And all of a sudden he's sobbing and crying for his mom, for his deadbeat dad, for God. But there's no-one and that just makes him cry even harder, his chest filling with it until he can barely breathe.

"Adam? Adam!"

Then there are arms around him, the smell of another human, warmth—and Adam is getting snot and tears all over Sam but he can't stop himself.

"I want to go home," he says, over and over again.

"I know. I'm sorry, fuck I'm sorry, Adam." 

Sam's voice has tears in it as well and they’re clinging to each other, both fucking wrecks. And Adam was wrong really. Because there is still someone.

\- - -

"Why did you have to do it?" asks Adam.

He's sitting down, leaning against Sam, worn-out and empty from his earlier tears.

"They were going to kill everyone." Sam's voice is tired and his eyes stare blankly at the whirling snow around them.

"Eternal paradise for everyone? Sounds better than this."

Sam sighs. "Yeah, if Michael won." He shivers in the cold, skin tensing over bony ribs and Adam huddles in closer. "You were never meant to end up here," says Sam. "I was supposed to be the only one to take the fall."

"I wish you had," Adam mumbles, and it's cruel, but he hates Sam for this.

"I'm sorry," is all Sam can say.

\- - -

Michael and Lucifer's fight is getting closer and Sam says he has to go. Adam hates him and wants him back in equal measures. He runs like a coward, until he can't hear Michael and Lucifer tearing Sam apart.

He doesn't see Sam for a long time after that.

\- - -

Somehow it's worse, having had that human contact and lost it again. He's reminded what it was like not to be in constant pain. He’s always on his own now. He thinks about his mother, and how he used to pretend to be sick so she would take time off work and they could hang around the house and watch their favorite movies together. Little things that he took for granted back then, because he knew life was hard but he thought there was always a bright side, something that made existence worthwhile.

He doesn't know how long it's been, but he's sure he's spent more time in this hell than he ever lived on earth. All the compassion and empathy has been sucked out of him, and all he can do is sneer at his past self for believing anything as naive as 'every cloud has a silver lining'.

\- - -

"Adam! Adam!"

It sounds like Sam's voice but he knows it's not. There's a coldness to it, a silky smoothness that makes Adam's skin goose-pimple. 

Adam's running through the snow—it's so cold he's not sure if he's freezing or burning, and it's just getting colder: he knows what that means. His frostbitten feet split down the soles a hundred steps back, and he's leaving a trail of blood. 

When he falls into a snowdrift he doesn't try to get up, but starts digging down, until he's made himself a cave. He curls up, holding his numb feet, and begs in his head— _go after Sam instead, please Sam don't let him get me, distract him, please._

It's silent except for his harsh breathing, but that doesn't mean anything. Lucifer only makes sound when he chooses to.

A hand bursts through from the ceiling of his cave and Adam screams. A moment later and he's pulled out, kicking wildly. Lucifer's holding Adam by his throat and he's so damn tall that Adam's a good couple of inches off the ground. It's not like any of them can die in here, but the crushing of his windpipe has Adam in an instinctual panic, and all he can do is claw at the big hand around his throat and stare at that familiar face. 

"I hear you and Sam had a touching moment. Care to visit him again?"

Lucifer throws him down on the snow that is suddenly hard as ice—Adam feels something crack—and starts dragging him away. Absolute terror is preventing Adam from doing anything to try and escape. His thoughts are a panicked blur of begging and cursing everyone, including Sam.

After an eternity of terror, Lucifer pulls Adam forward and kicks him, making him roll over. The snow is soaked with blood and Sam is lying on his back on the ground in front of him. Stakes through his limbs pin him to the ground. Adam can't read Sam's expression at all.

Lucifer ignores Adam, walking over to Sam and speaking directly to him.

"You've been boring me, Sam. It's no fun if you just roll over and take it. So here's a new game. I'm going to rape your dear little brother here, hard and brutal, or _you_ will."

Adam's stomach drops. Sam glances at Adam before looking back at Lucifer.

"Lucifer, please, I—I can fight you if that's what you want. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it."

"And that's exactly why you're not doing it for me anymore," says Lucifer dismissively.

He steps towards Adam, who crawls back with a whimper.

"Don't touch him, _please!_ " 

Lucifer stops, turns around. "There's only one way for you to stop this, Sam," he says, eyebrows raised.

Sam's eyes flick between Lucifer and Adam and his mouth opens but his voice is frozen. Lucifer's eyes roll in disdain and then there's a cold grip around Adam's arm—he's right in Adam's space—and Adam screams.

"Wait!" he hears Sam say, and the grip is miraculously lessening. "I'll—I'll do it."

Lucifer moves behind Adam, still holding onto him, leaving him with a view of the stakes from Sam's limbs dissolving. Sam pushes himself up unsteadily, his gaping wounds knitting themselves together as Adam watches. His eyes were weak and defeated before, but now they are pure resolve. Adam tries to pull away but Lucifer is holding onto his arm with a grip of steel.

"Don't—!" Adam shrieks—he barely recognizes his own voice.

Sam doesn't flinch, keeps walking steadily towards him and then grabs Adam's flailing arm, pressing down on his wrist, the pain forcing Adam to his knees. Lucifer lets go, standing back to watch in amusement. Sam twists Adam's arm around his back and his other hand presses down hard on his shoulders, pushing Adam to lie face first on the ground. Adam struggles as much as he can, but Sam is an immovable force.

"Fuck you, Sam!" he screams. "Fuck you!"

One of his kicks lands, and he hears Sam grunt in pain, though his grip never falters. Sam doesn't stop until he's lying fully on top of Adam, his weight pinning him down.

"Stop it, _stop it_ , Adam," Sam barks harshly.

Adam wriggles as much as he can. His arm feels like it's going to break in this position and he tries to pull away. Every inch of Sam's naked chest is touching his back, sticky blood smearing all over his skin, and he can't get away from that touch. One of Sam's hands slips further down, and then his right arm is only held down by the pressure of Sam's body. He pulls his arm free, lashing out and sinking his nails into the side of Sam's face, aiming for his eyes.

Sam yells out, jerking back when the sharp edge of Adam's ragged nails get too close—this is Adam's chance!—and then a pair of freezing cold hands lock around his arms, trapping them against the hard ice. Lucifer crouches down and cocks his head with amusement as he watches.

Adam is trapped like a butterfly with a pin through its back. 

He can feel Sam's harsh breath on the back of his neck, as he rests his forehead there and pants. Adam can't stop his body from shaking minutely, and he doesn’t know why he's reacting like this after everything that has already been done to him here.

For several seconds no-one moves; Adam is pinned by the two of them—no amount of squirming will free him from the man at his back and the not-man crouching in front of him. Then he feels Sam moving against his back, propping himself up on one hand and parting Adam's legs.

He can feel a rigid object pressing against his hole; he can't get away, and Sam keeps up the pressure until something gives and the head is inside. Just the tip, but it burns, dry and tight.

A strangled scream rips out of his throat. "Fuck you! I hate you, I hate you!" 

He hears Sam muttering pleas into his tangled hair, "Stop fighting, Adam, please," and the pained edge to his voice makes Adam furious at the self-centered bastard. How dare he pretend he's feeling even a fraction of Adam's pain, when he's the one responsible for it. 

He tries to inch away but arms wrap around Adam's waist, pulling him onto Sam’s cock, exquisite pain burying deeper into him. Sam doesn't stop despite the friction, slowly impaling Adam, until finally it's resting fully inside Adam, and he can feel Sam's hips against his ass. All movement stops. He can feel the length inside him, a heartbeat against his fragile insides, and the rising and falling of Sam's chest against his back. His face burns and he squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his fists.

Lucifer caresses Adam's wrists in his grip, and then Sam pulls back, the dry skin inside burning and resisting any movement, and slams back in. An involuntary noise comes from between Adam's clenched teeth, and even though he knows it's useless, his legs scrabble in an attempt to get away. 

Sam keeps it up, a steady workmanlike rhythm—in, out—like he's on automatic. Adam can hear his pants in his ear, the hot breath fluttering his hair, and he hates it all so much. He keeps his mouth shut despite the mounting pain, but when he feels something tear inside, his shoulders start to shake with repressed sobs, and he tucks his face away against the cold ice.

It goes on for what feels like forever, until finally Lucifer says, "It won't end until you finish, Sam."

Sam pauses, his chest moving away from Adam's back as he presumably looks at his doppelganger. 

"Is your imagination failing you? The fact that you're fucking your baby brother isn't enough to get you off?"

There's nothing but silence as Adam regulates his breathing, grateful for the break from the pain. And then Sam lowers himself again, a sudden violent snap of his hips that sinks his cock deep inside Adam. He's relentless now, vicious thrusts, one hand on the back of Adam's neck pushing his face down, the other gripping his hip, nails biting. It's too much, and Adam can't hold it in anymore. It pours out of him in choked sobs that make him feel like he's drowning. The grunts from behind him just make it worse because that's Sam getting closer to orgasm, that's Sam _enjoying_ this.

It stings when Sam finishes inside, like acid flooding his insides. Sam's chest heaves behind him, and he can feel sweat and blood sticking them together, and he's never hated someone more than he does now. When Sam pulls out and Lucifer releases his hands he turns around, his vision tunneling as he throws his fists into weak flesh. He thinks he's yelling something but he's nothing but a conduit for this rage, all he can do is release it.

He comes to sucking in harsh breaths, standing over the crumpled figure below him. His knuckles sting, blood pearling over scuffed-off skin, and his entire body aches. He can't even recognize Sam's face underneath all the blood. He feels like he's going to throw up.

Sam stirs on the ground, eyes rolling, and Lucifer starts to laugh.

\- - -

Lucifer tries to make them do it again, and Sam refuses. And then for a time Adam is Lucifer's.

Sam doesn’t refuse again after that.

\- - -

The newest illusion is Adam's college room, the one he only stayed in for a few short weeks before everything ended. There are two beds: one his own, the other for his roommate. The room is perpetually messy, but he never sees his roommate. He's been alone in this illusion for a while. Lucifer is letting him get used to it, to set the scene properly. He's been to the library, walked around the campus. There's nothing new in the books, nothing he didn't already know. He gets a headache when he tries to read too much, the words sliding away into descriptions that squirm into his brain, that couldn't possibly be what medical textbooks are really like.

He doesn't like leaving his room too often and seeing other people, people he knows aren't real. It doesn't feel like an actual college with people living their lives; it feels more like the idea of college, of shining university prospectus photos brought into motion.

He lies back on the bed, squirming restlessly as the rough material of his jeans rubs against his skin. That's another thing he's not used to: wearing clothes. He struggled to remember how to put them on at first, and he quickly became irritated at how restrictive they felt, and how difficult it was to move around. He swears that Lucifer might have even made them out of extra itchy material, because he can't understand how he managed to wear clothes every day feeling like this.

He punches the bed and lets out a breath of air before bringing his hand up and looking at it. That was one thing he learned before he died—the names of bones, from the few classes of Anatomy 101 he attended. He taps his wrist, feeling the delicate bones underneath as he goes from lateral to medial.

Scaphoid. Lunate. Triquetrum. Pisiform. Trapezium. Trapezoid. Capitate. Hamate.

Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can't Handle.

He repeats it for a while, then tries the bones in his arm. He learned them, he's sure he did, but the names are out of his grasp, like they never existed.

He sighs, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't know how long he lies there before he feels that nudge in his mind, a reminder that the show is starting soon. There's a knock at the door and he sits up. Sam is there when he opens the door, hunched over with some awful jacket with elbow patches on. He's a TA at the same university as Adam. It makes these trysts easier.

"Hey, come in, my roommate's out," says Adam, as he shuts the door behind Sam.

Sam takes off his jacket, closes the curtains. He sits on the bed next to Adam, uncomfortably close.

"How's your studying going? Have you got any plans for the break?" he asks, with wooden delivery. It's kind of funny how terrible he is at acting.

Adam slides his hand over, cupping the bulge in Sam's pants. "Did you really come here to ask about my studying?"

Sam grabs Adam's hand. "I'm sorry. This has gone on long enough. I don't want to mess you up. We shouldn't do this."

"I don't care what they think. They don't understand us. Can it really be wrong if it feels this good?"

Adam presses down hard on Sam's erection as he delivers that ridiculous line. Lucifer loves these stupid melodrama settings, especially the ones that dwell on how sick and wrong incest is. 

Sam bucks up, moans Adam's name, before reaching over and cupping Adam's face, kissing him gently.

Adam tries to keep his face as neutral as possible. He hates this pretend affectionate crap and he hates being touched like this—soft, like Sam hasn't already raped him dozens of times. 

Sam pulls off their clothes, breaking the kiss and coming back to it, with an urgent air. Adam goes along with it. He wants it over with, but after this scenario there will just be another one, and another one. When they're both naked Sam pulls Adam onto his lap, making him kneel up a little so he can suck at his nipples. They both ignore Adam's soft cock; he's never hard, and Sam has at least stopped trying to get him to respond like that.

Adam stares at the wall over Sam's head, at the poster of the circulatory system he put up there, a reminder of the dreams he'd once had. He winces when a slick finger prods between his legs. He loops his arms around Sam's shoulder, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stay still while Sam opens him up. He's not ready when the fingers slide out, hands grabbing his ass to lower him down, spearing him on that thick cock. 

Sam's face barely flickers when Adam sits on him fully, blank of anything but defeat and apathy. Adam feels full, his hole stretched around something that shouldn't fit—uncomfortable but not painful. Sam's efforts have at least helped with that. He wants to wait a while longer, but he feels that itch at the back of his mind again. 

He doesn't like it in this position. It's better when all he has to do is lie there, or stay still. Maybe that's why Lucifer made them pick this position, where Adam is the one that has to move, lifting up and fucking himself on that hard cock over and over.

That's what pushes Adam over the edge. This is all he has anymore: bouncing on his brother's cock in a fake college room for the devil's amusement. This is his life now, because he trusted the wrong people, because he had the bad luck of being related to the Winchesters. Tears start to slip down his nose, but he can't stop. He has to keep moving, keep this illusion going, because as bad as this is, the alternative is even worse.

Sam's eyes snap out of his unfocused gaze, and he touches Adam's face, looking alarmed. 

"Hey, Adam, hey, what is it? Am I hurting you?"

Adam shakes his head. "F—Fuck you. You think I wanted this for my life? What, what the fuck did I do to deserve—?"

He can't talk anymore, and Sam looks devastated, which is fucking ridiculous considering the position they're in now. He loops his arms around Adam, brings Adam in close so he can cry on Sam's neck, but he carries on rocking his hips into Adam, because they still have to keep this farce up.

And Adam still hates Sam, still hates everything, but ... he's not immune to the calming effect of human touch. He lets everything out, cries his guts out into Sam's neck until he feels empty and exhausted. Sam kisses his hair, murmuring comforting words, and Adam clings back.

\- - -

It gets easier every time Lucifer makes them do it, and then Adam climaxes for the first time.

They’re in bed together, covers hiding them, though if anyone came in the room it wouldn't hide the truth of what they're doing. There's a gentle wash of conversation: his mother and father talking downstairs as they do the dishes. Sam's brother is here, too, in the next room, flat out on the bed from the beer he'd been drinking while watching the game. 

Sam is close behind him, big cock thrusting in and out of his hole while Adam tries to muffle himself with his hand. Sam's thigh is wedged in between Adam's legs, his fist around Adam's dick, his body hot against his back. He can feel sweat slicking the sheets, but his feet are starting to go numb from the cold outside of the covers. He feels safe here, Sam's body covering him, protecting him.

Each smooth slide in and out brushes against his prostate, sending shocks of pleasure through his body. His cock is hard, that much has happened before, but Sam's hand around it feels more urgent than comforting, like the pleasure is leading somewhere this time. He clenches his hole around the hard dick holding him open, and rocks his hips involuntarily at the spark that produces. He wants to tell Sam to go faster, but they have to be quiet, can't let anyone see the dirty sinful things they do. So he just pushes his ass back against Sam's crotch, and fuck yes, Sam's hips start doing some swivel thing, and it feel like he's being massaged from the inside so good … and then he's clenching down, spurting out his orgasm onto the sheets while he shoves his knuckles into his mouth to stifle his moans.

It feels like his whole being is bathed in pleasure in the aftershocks, body going limp while Sam speeds up his thrusting behind him, wringing out the last bits of pleasure from Adam's over-sensitized passage before stiffening and burying his face in Adam's neck while his cock pumps out his release inside.

\- - -

Lucifer tries other scenes, an endless parade of worlds where Sam and Adam are humiliated over and over, Lucifer's imagination knowing no bounds.

Adam is dressed in some stupid dress with an apron. He's lying back on the kitchen table while Sam drills into him with steady, slow strokes. "Fuck your wife, Sam," Lucifer laughs.

Adam's sitting on Sam's cock at the dinner table. His mom is there, pouring out her coffee and calling Adam disgusting, filthy, his own brother, how could he, and Adam burns with embarrassment. Sam places his hand in Adam's hair, turning his face to hide in Sam's shoulder. 

Sam fucks Adam over the hood of that car, the vintage black one. The metal is covered in ice, it sticks to the skin of Adam's stomach, pulling painfully and ripping. 

His old friends from high school laugh at Adam, gathered in a circle around the two of them. Their faces are indistinct—there's that brown-haired guy he used to hang out with. What was his name? Sam pushes Adam's head down and makes him take his cock until he chokes.

It never stops, and Adam just wants it to end. But he can't even conceive of anything different; it feels like this has been his whole life, nothing but humiliation and fucking and Sam. 

He tries to disconnect from what’s happening and escape to his mind and memories but he can't remember what really happened and what didn't—Did his mom and dad live together? He and Sam always had this secret thing going on, right? Sometimes he feels like he's just making up nice stories instead of truly remembering things.

The illusions feel stranger and stranger, a sense of unreality that he can't identify or describe. No-one except his mom and Sam's brother has a face anymore, the scenes are full of objects with seemingly no purpose, and there's snow and ice everywhere.

Then Lucifer makes Adam fuck Sam. He laughs at the comical size difference, the way Adam doesn't quite know how to position Sam. The snow covering the bed is soft as Adam parts Sam's legs and shuffles forward. He pushes in slowly, fisting the base of his cock, and inhales sharply through clenched teeth at the burn. 

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, and turns his head to the side. He looks pale and tired, and Adam raises a shaky hand to just barely skim the length of his thigh, feeling the soft hairs under his fingers. He doesn't want to hurt Sam.

He thrusts forward experimentally, the motion sending Sam's body sliding back. Sam's brow creases and his fists clench in the snow.

"How does little bro's baby cock feel?" asks Lucifer, coming up to stand next to Sam, leaning over them with a leer on his face. "You can barely feel it, right? Is it even in?"

He laughs, contorting Sam's features into something ugly. Adam bends down, his arms bracketing Sam's body. He leans forward a little bit so he's face to face with Sam, the movement tilting Sam's hips back. Sam's eyes crack open a slit and he brings his legs up and around Adam's body.

Adam brushes Sam's hair behind his ears, close enough that he can feel Sam's breath. He keeps his eyes locked with Sam as he moves, trying to keep Sam's attention off the laughing specter next to them. It's easier now, slick inside, and hot. It feels different than being fucked, more immediate, his whole cock throbbing with pleasure. It almost feels like he isn't controlling the strokes in and out, like he's being pulled in by the lure of Sam's body, unable to bear being out of that wonderful tight space for too long.

His belly brushes Sam's cock on one particularly deep thrust. It's hard, sticky precome smearing on him. Sam bites his lip, eyes closing momentarily, and color rises in his cheeks. The sight makes something deep inside Adam glow. He pulls out almost to the tip and then buries himself in sharply on the next stroke. Sam lets out an involuntary grunt, and he can't believe he's making Sam feel this.

"Oh, look at you. You're really getting into it." Lucifer sounds incredulous. "All this time fucking your little brother when really, all you wanted was a cock in you. You slut."

Adam kisses Sam, dropping down so there's no space between their bodies, skin slick-sliding together, his hips moving in frenetic shallow thrusts. Sam's hands come up to hold on to Adam's shoulders as they kiss. Sam is clenching around Adam's cock, squeezing sparks of ecstasy that make Adam jerk, and he can't get enough of the sounds Sam is making. 

Sam writhes underneath Adam, and then he arches up, mouth pulling away as he cries out. He clenches around Adam and Adam realizes Sam has just come. He snaps his hips forward, and drops his head down onto Sam's hard chest. He buries himself again and again in Sam, his balls tightening painfully, until finally he's coming, squirming and grinding into the body underneath him.

He collapses on top of Sam, feeling like his whole self has been emptied. He rests his head on Sam's chest, cheek pressed against hard bone, and pants, breathing in the scent of Sam's sweat. It feels good, a warm body under him, his cock throbbing with the last echoes of pleasure.

Then icy hands grab him, pull him away and throw him to the ground. He gasps at the shock of cold on his back.

Lucifer sneers down at him. "How touching. Excuse me while I borrow your 'lover' for a while."

Adam glances over at Sam—he's still lying on the ground, frozen, his expression starting to go blank in that way Adam hates—and he pushes himself up. Lucifer's face hardens, and a moment later Adam is flying back, crashing through snow and ice until he finally skids to a stop.

He sits up. There is a long smear of red in the ice in front of him. His back stings and he can feel blood dripping down his skin. There is nothing but white as far as he can see.

Snow starts to fall softly.

\- - -

He walks. He tries to find his way back to Sam but he never gets close. He feels like maybe he's trapped in a snow-globe, or maybe he's the only one left in this Hell.

He remembers he used to talk to his mom when he was alone and he tries that again. But he's lost her voice, and when he tries to conjure it up, it doesn't feel real to him anymore. He cries because he's lost so much, without even noticing when it happened. She was important to him; he thinks the reason he's here is because of his love for her, but his sorrow feels fake: he doesn't remember her enough to mourn her. 

She looked after him. But Sam does that for him now. And Adam looks after Sam. They're all each other has.

So he talks to Sam. 

Sam is reassuring and kind and funny and listens to whatever Adam says. When Adam is sick of walking he curls up in the snow, wraps his arms around himself and imagines that Sam is cradling him like that. Sometimes when Adam is lying there, he imagines Sam whispering in his ear all the things he wants to do to Adam, and Adam touches himself until he comes.

Time stretches on. His life on earth feels like a long-faded dream. If his existence has been a long stretch into infinity, earth would be perhaps the length of his little toe. It doesn't define him anymore.

The ache of Sam's absence never really fades entirely, even as Adam loses more of himself to the march of time. The loneliness strips him down until his longing is a weeping wound. If Lucifer came back to offer Adam the chance to spend the rest of eternity being tortured by Sam, he would take it, if only to feel Sam's hands on his skin again.

He's collapsed on the ice, alone, crying bitterly, when he hears it. An explosion of sound: rumbles like thunder and shrieks like glass shattering. He looks up and sees many-colored lights on the horizon.

It can only be Michael and Lucifer. And that means Sam might be free.

He gets up and starts running, getting as close to the raging tornado of ice and flame as he dares. He finds Sam buried under a snow drift, only his mangled hand sticking out. He pulls out the frozen body and starts to drag Sam away. By the time he's far enough out of range of the archangels that he feels safe, Sam's frost-bitten extremities have warmed up to a more healthy-looking pink.

He lets Sam drop to the ground, and starts scrambling in the snow, digging out a hole in the snow drift. He compacts the snow together until it's hard and durable, a small cave just big enough for two. Then he squirms out and pulls Sam in. He fills the entrance with packed snow, sealing them in fully.

Sam is lying on his back, his eyes blank and unfocused. Adam crawls in beside him, pulls Sam onto his side and hugs himself around Sam, tucking Sam's hands in between their chests to warm them up. 

It's been so long that his mental image of Sam has deteriorated. When he looks at Sam now he can see tiny details he forgot. Individually, they seemed insignificant, but when added together, they make Sam more real, a person, and more beautiful than anything his mind could have imagined.

He nestles in against Sam's throat, looking up at the snow ceiling above them. Light is shining through, the packed snow giving it a blue tinge. He can feel the air in the shelter warming up from the heat of their bodies. For the first time in forever he feels safe.

Sam stirs against him. He murmurs Adam's name and snuggles in closer. Adam hides a smile in Sam's chest.

They lie there in silence for a while before Sam says in a whisper, "Are you okay?"

Adam tilts his head up, Sam's eyes are closed, his face drawn and pale with a sickly blue tinge from the light. 

"Of course. I'm fine. What about you?"

Sam just makes an ambiguous grunt. 

"I missed you," says Adam.

Sam sighs. "Yeah, me too."

There's silence for a while. Sam resting, and Adam just letting himself indulge in it all, being together again. Then he starts talking, slowly.

"I think, before, when I was on my own, I talked to my mom. And I tried again this time, but I couldn't—I think I've forgotten a lot about her. But I remember it was like this with her … safe. Did you know her?"

Sam shakes his head, his chin brushing against the top of Adam's head, ruffling his hair. "Sorry … I remember my brother though."

The word sparks recognition in Adam. He looks up at Sam, who's staring into space. "… We're brothers, right?"

Sam nods.

"So my mom is yours too?"

Sam frowns. "No, I don't think that's right."

"Then how are we brothers?"

There's silence while Sam thinks. "I don't remember," he says eventually.

Adam sighs and cuddles in closer. "I don't want him to take you again. Why the fuck can't it be like this forever? It was like this with mom, why did it have to change?"

"I'm sorry," says Sam in a strangled voice, and Adam looks up in alarm.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I think this is all my fault." Sam has closed his eyes; his lower lips trembles before he bites it firmly.

Adam looks down. Maybe that's true. He can't remember. He doesn't know what to say so he just squeezes in closer to Sam, holding him. He crooks his head back down in Sam's chest and sighs. After all this time on his own it feels amazing to have someone close to him who doesn't want to hurt him. Sam's body is so warm, so beautiful in contrast to all this cold. He brushes his hands up and down Sam's back in a comforting rhythm. Sam tilts his head down so his hair just brushes against Adam's forehead, soft and silky.

Adam pushes his knee between Sam's legs, so all his body is pressed up against Sam. Sam brings his hand down and starts to trace a circle on Adam's hip.

They while away a long time like this, just pressed together, touching and caressing each other.

Adam breathes in deep, his face pressed against Sam, and then he moves his face forward, touching his lips to Sam's collarbones. He kisses Sam's skin again, and again, licks it and then sucks gently. When he pulls away there's a blossoming red circle in the skin. He bares his teeth and presses down, fitting his teeth to the outline of the bruise. Sam's breathing is heavier now, and the hand that has been stroking Adam's hip clutches at him, ragged nails stinging for a second.

Adam can feel Sam's cock rising, heavy against his stomach, and he squirms against it. His own cock is starting to stiffen as well, and suddenly he wants it so badly.

He whispers, "Sam, I want to, please, can I?"

Sam nods. Adam shifts against Sam's hard body, getting just the right angle to rub their cocks together. They move against each other, bodies writhing sinuously in and out. Color is flushing Sam's cheeks, and his mouth is half open, eyes closed, as he pants for air—Adam can't keep his eyes off the sight. He thinks maybe Sam should fuck him, or the other way around, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to give up this pure touching of body against body.

Time seems to stretch out as they rock together lazily, slowly, taking their time to explore each other's bodies again, for long enough that their shelter starts to heat up. Melted ice falls on Adam's cheek as he hitches his hips up, cock sliding in the groove of Sam's hip. Sam's face screws up and he pulls Adam in closer, thrusting his hips harshly, slapping their skin together. Adam lets out an involuntary whine. He's getting closer; he doesn't want it to end yet but he can't pull back from Sam.

Sam's arm flails beside him for a second, searching for something to grab, before he reaches out to Adam. He digs his fingers into the meat of Adam's ass before he comes, biting his lips to try to keep those sounds from coming out. 

Adam snaps his hips forward, sliding through the slick mess on their stomachs, wet and silky perfect, and he can't keep himself from speeding up, forcing himself over the edge and coming, emptying himself all over them both.

They're both breathing heavily when it's over, chests heaving. Adam's head is spinning. His entire body tingles deliciously, every nerve sparking in the wake of a complete system overload. 

Like that, held in Sam's arms, Adam drifts off, mind disconnecting from everything.

\- - -

After that Sam and Adam are together for a short while.

They walk the snowy landscape, trying to stay out of reach of the archangels' battle, and shelter in dug out snow caves when they're tired. It's still Hell, Adam's body aches and freezes, but they help each other struggle along: Adam propping Sam up when he can barely walk, or Sam carrying Adam on his back. 

They talk—share their thoughts, feelings, fantasies. It doesn't feel like Sam is another person anymore; he's an extension of Adam, or maybe it's the other way around. 

When they're silent Adam holds Sam, or keeps some part of his body in contact with Sam—the touch giving him a shaky sense of peace and contentment, healing over the scar tissue on his soul.

His heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest with happiness, but the distant rumbles and flashes of light mean he never forgets that this will end soon. It gives everything an urgent edge that keeps them anxious and unable to relax. They hold each other tightly when they're lying in the snow cave together and fuck often to try to relieve the nervous tension.

Adam treasures every little bit of time they have together, tries to engrave it into his memory for the bad times.

He's still not ready when that perfect time is inevitably broken.

Lucifer bursts in, shatters Sam and Adam's peace, with blood and ice and blades. Maybe Adam's been left alone for too long, has grown unused to it all, but Lucifer feels crueler. He makes Sam and Adam hurt each other, betray each other—and there is no respite like before, no domestic illusions with Sam's brother, or Adam's mom. There's nothing but the snow, the ice, and the hellish blizzard. It's unrelenting, and Adam can feel his mind slipping. He wants it to end.

Sam is up close touching Adam, who's falling apart and bleeding, when a bright light bathes the world in white. Adam shuts his eyes against it. Sam holds him closer and then he feels something pulling Sam away from him. He clings back, digs his nails into Sam's back. He won't be left on his own again. They're both pulled away, the sky flips and Adam feels like he's being pulled inside-out, squeezed through a small space. All he can hear is screaming, rushing in his ear. He holds onto the one familiar thing he has while they tumble through the abyss.

When it stops he keeps his eyes shut, pressed up against Sam. He gasps for breath and everything feels sharper, hurts in a way he's not used to. He turns his head, cracks open his eyes, squinting into the brightness. For the first time in forever, he doesn't feel that icy ache in his body. 

His eyes slowly adjust. Green. A prickly sensation on his bare legs. It feels warm like when he's embraced by Sam, but _everywhere_. He doesn't have words for what he's seeing.

He turns his head and sees Michael is standing a few feet away. Adam freezes, even stops breathing, but when Michael walks towards him he can't take it anymore and screams. Sam reacts immediately, spinning around and pushing Adam behind him, getting up on shaky legs and holding his ground.

"Sammy," says Michael. "It's me, it's Dean. Just stay calm, okay? No-one's going to hurt you."

Sam stares at him. Michael tries for a smile. It looks strange on his face—missing those sharp edges.

"I've come to take you home. _Please_."

Sam edges back to Adam, almost stepping on him, before reaching a hand blindly behind him and pulling Adam up with him. Adam clings to Sam's hand. He doesn't want to go with this strange Michael, but he doesn't want to leave Sam. 

Not-Michael leads them away, to where an old man is waiting by a big black thing. The old man's face is weird, full of details like the folds of skin around his eyes and the bristly hair framing his face. It's utterly different to the hazy blur that Adam is used to seeing on the faces of people in the illusions, and it makes him nervous to wonder why this character has been set apart.

The old man with the face opens up the black thing, helps them in. Inside is warm and stuffy—it seems to radiate heat. Sam crawls in after Adam, and pushes him down on the scorching black skin, covers Adam with his body. The old man drops something soft over them. There's a rumble and the whole box starts to vibrate.

It's absurd and Adam can't keep it in anymore, lets out a giggle-snort of laughter because what the fuck is this, nothing has ever been like this—hot and bright and sharp. Nothing makes sense anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

In the amount of time it takes for Not-Michael and the old man to open the door, Adam has remembered what the black thing is called: a car. The car has taken them somewhere—in the center of dirty ice is a shelter, a beautiful shade of blue that he sometimes sees in Sam's eyes. Not-Michael gives Sam and Adam some soft things and when Sam just stares and Adam takes one to stroke, he lets out an annoyed breath and makes them pull on the material, fastening it tight.

He leads them to sit on something together—everything is soft here—and sits opposite them. The old man stands a little behind, watching them.

"We got you out—Cas did. You're not in the cage anymore."

Adam ignores him, looks around. He's waiting for the humiliation to start. It's been so long since Lucifer has put them through one of these illusions, he can only guess what direction it's going to take. 

"Sam!" barks Not-Michael.

Adam's head swivels to look at Sam. Sam's chest is moving very slightly but quickly, beneath the cloth covering it. Adam reaches a hand across, touches Sam's hand carefully, curling his fingers into Sam's palm.

"Do you remember me?"

Sam doesn't answer. He glances at Adam next to him, trying not to turn his head at all. He's panicking. There are no instructions yet; neither of them have any idea what they're meant to do.

"Dean." The old man speaks up. "They need to rest, get something to eat, before you interrogate them."

Not-Michael looks frustrated, but he nods and the old man leaves the room, brings them back containers made of clear ice. 

"Have a drink," he says, and oh fuck, Adam knows where this is going now.

Lucifer has done this a few times, made him swallow snow and melted ice, made him swallow until his belly was rounded and hard, until his stomach burst, his skin purpling underneath.

Adam drinks the whole glass of warm melted ice and so does Sam. The old man fills it up again, and Adam drinks it again. When he's finished the old man takes the glass off him. His face is creased like Sam's when he's worried. Adam realizes he has tears running down his face.

"I think that's enough," the old man says.

He says they should go to bed. Not-Michael and the old man lead them up, put Adam in a box and Sam in another box. Adam stays until it's quiet and then he creeps out into Sam's box, where they fall into each other, wrap themselves up on the bed, as soft as snow and as warm as Sam's body.

They talk sporadically, not sure if they're allowed to. Neither of them know what to do, but Sam thinks they should wait and see what happens. They don't say much else—just being in each other's company is enough. Although it's stressful sitting and waiting for the blow to come, it's the closest thing to a reprieve they've had for a long time. 

Adam had already been feeling weird when this illusion appeared—his body feeling ill-fitting, but it gets worse. His skin is damp and warm, the ground keeps tilting underneath him, and he has a dull pressure in his stomach—not painful, like it's going to burst—just mildly uncomfortable.

Turns out that feeling means he needs to look after himself and use the bathroom, as Not-Michael explains angrily later when it's light. He brings in the old man to give them a lecture about what bodily sensations mean and what they should do about them.

This at least feels a bit like punishment, but when Sam and Adam are led into a white, white room, gripping each others' hands so tightly, no pain follows. Not-Michael fiddles with something and warm water starts falling. They just have to stand under it, although Adam has to sit down when he starts to feel unsteady.

When they're finished and dry, Adam's skin is glowing pink and he feels warm and comfortable the way he only feels if Sam is wrapped up around him. But his mind is racing, trying to make sense of everything. His muscles are tense, waiting for the real punishment to start.

They're finally led down to the ground level and settled in a different area. Everything is sharp, and the shelter is full of colors he rarely sees: blues that he only ever sees in the coating of veins; browns that he only ever sees in Sam's hair; yellows like globs of fat; these colors are everywhere in the environment now. His brain is being overloaded.

Not-Michael holds up a flat thing with burnt meat on it, and staring pleadingly at Sam, says, "You guys need to eat something. Come on, Sammy."

Sam's complexion is ashen, but he takes it, and stares at it for a few seconds like he's trying to psych himself up to swallow it. Not-Michael pushes some of the burnt meat at Adam, nodding encouragingly. 

Adam should take it, he should, he needs to play along. But he's sick of waiting for the drop, not knowing what this new illusion is about. It needs a jump start.

"No."

The old man glances over from where he's standing in the corner. Not-Michael's hand shakes, almost dropping the meat. 

"You're not hungry?" he asks. The old man steps over, shoots a look at Not-Michael. "Or you don't like bacon?"

Adam doesn't know how to answer either of those questions. His body is vibrating as he waits for the punishment. But the two men don't do anything except ask more questions, trying to coax him into talking more. 

"No," Adam repeats. "No, no, no, _no!_ " 

He shoots up to standing. Nothing's happening. They look alarmed but Lucifer or Michael would have stopped Adam by now. He's not there, he's somewhere else—where is he?

His face is crumpling up—he doesn't know if he should be relieved or petrified. He backs away, twisting his hands. _Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum..._

He's started chanting it now, he thinks. The world is becoming blurry and unreal, like a reflection in frosted ice.

_...capate, trapezoid..._

He hears a screech: Sam has stood up, knocking his chair back. Sam reaches for him and he lashes out at first, struggling as Sam pulls him in a tight embrace. His arms are pinned by his side, his face smothered by the clothes Sam is wearing, but slowly Sam's scent and warmth penetrate the fog, and his struggles slow until he's just standing there, sobbing, collapsed against Sam.

\- - -

Not-Michael leaves for a while; the old man stays in the room but keeps his distance. When Not-Michael comes back, he has something for them. He tells them that they don't have to drink it, they can just taste it. But, he says, it tastes awesome and it'll make them healthy.

It's true. Adam sucks out the thick liquid and keeps it in his mouth for ages. It tastes like nothing he's ever swallowed before and makes his teeth feel furry and his tongue tingle like the beginnings of frostbite. He loves it.

He sits curled up next to Sam with Sam's arm around him, as they listen to what the two have to say.

They're out. Lucifer and Michael are locked up and can never get to them. Sam's brother saved them.

Sam is shaking, a soft vibration against Adam's chest. He licks his dry lips before saying, in a voice just as cracked, "Dean?"

Sam's brother gives a shaky smile, his eyes watery with relief. "Yeah, Sammy. God, it's been—I thought I'd never get you back, I … you're all right?"

Sam nods. His chest is shuddering unevenly now, his breath catching. "Yeah, I … Dean, I knew—I knew you'd find us—"

He can't say any more, words swallowed in a gasp like a sob. Sam reaches out his hand, his brother reaching out at the same time, and their hands touch, intertwining. Sam's shoulders shake as tears run down his face.

When he leans forward Adam has to let go, falling back against the couch, watching as Sam hugs his brother. He feels empty, like all the blood has drained from his body, as he watches the two of them. Sam’s got his brother back, the one thing from his old life.

"Where's my mom?"

Sam's brother breaks the hug reluctantly. He rubs the back of his head, avoiding Adam's gaze. 

"She's … Adam, she's dead. Several years back. Don't you remember?"

Not a lot of those words make sense. The inside of Adam's mouth feels dry, tongue sticking unpleasantly when he opens his mouth.

"What..." His voice trails off; he doesn't really know what he's trying to ask.

The old man speaks up. "She's gone … She’s in a better place."

Adam's blood starts throbbing: a burst of excitement.

"Can I go see her?"

Sam's brother and the old man have faces like Adam is something pathetic, like he's doing something awful they're embarrassed to witness. They start on explanations: no, he can't go see her, no, she can't come here, it's not a place people can come and go to easily, no, it's just not possible. And when Adam starts to understand that there's just no way—he doesn't know if they're stopping him or what, but it's not going to happen—he screams. His mother won't ever hold Adam or tell him everything is okay, and what if Sam leaves, what if Sam doesn't need Adam now that he has his brother back.

He picks up something and throws it at Sam, he just wants to smash Sam's face in until he feels better, but Sam's brother tackles him to the ground and the old man helps hold him down. Sam hangs back, a line of blood and blossoming red on his cheek where the thing Adam threw smashed into his face. He didn't dodge, he never does; he understands that Adam needs to let out his anger sometimes.

Adam screams and fights, and Sam backs away until he's tucked away in the corner of the room, curled up and pulling at his hair while he watches.

\- - -

Adam gets another lecture about that. He seethes with anger, wants to jump over and hurt the old man, but he holds it back, and later, when Sam finds him, he gets a long hug.

Sam's brother (Dean) and the old man (Bobby) are a lot more careful about leaving Sam and Adam on their own after that. Any time Adam is in the same room as Sam they're there. Adam hates them and he wants the time back in the cage, where it was just him and Sam. Even being in the illusions he had more time on his own with Sam. Now suddenly Adam is just one part of Sam's life, whereas he used to be the center of Sam's attention. Sam told him stories about his brother but Adam never grasped until now just how much Dean means to Sam.

Dean and Bobby won't stop hovering, trying to get Sam and Adam to do things, asking them if they want this or that, what they think about this. Adam can't think. He just wants them to go away.

And they won't stop offering Sam and Adam things to "eat". Saying that they need to eat, or they'll get sick. They stop with the burnt meat at least, when Sam threw up when he actually tried to swallow some. Adam refuses it all, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat when he's presented with something to chew. They keep getting the smoothies though, a couple of big ones at a time that Adam makes last as long as possible. 

At least some things are easy here. When it's light outside they stay downstairs and are asked interminable questions. When it's dark they go upstairs and Adam is left to sit in a room on his own. An unmoving routine. He's not allowed to see Sam during this time and there's always someone watching to stop him from leaving his room. Something about the darkness means he has to be on his own, and so he spends the time rocking on the floor and waiting to see Sam again.

Adam is almost reconciled to the concept that they're actually out, that it's not just an illusion. And being here, maybe out of the Cage, is at least bringing some things back. He's remembering words, some of it from hearing Dean and Bobby talk, but a lot of it just seems to pop into his head randomly, words for objects he hasn't seen for hundreds of years, had no need for.

There have been a couple of periods of darkness before Adam and Sam leave the house. They're both shepherded through the interminable morning routine: using the toilet, getting wet and then dry again, changing to a different set of clothes; before they're let downstairs. Sam is sitting next to Adam, holding his hand and rubbing it, but he's turned towards his brother listening to Dean talk about something. Adam sits by the window, eyes closed against the brightness, bathing in the warmth. 

"Adam. You wanna go out?" asks Bobby, from the other side of the room.

Adam opens his eyes and just glares back, because how he is he meant to answer that?

"Damn, yeah, we need to go outside," says Dean. "It's been days. I'm getting cabin fever."

Sam nods when Dean asks him to come out. He does anything Dean asks him to, stars in his eyes as he follows his big brother around. Adam wants to refuse, they don't need to do what Dean and Bobby ask them to; they're not Lucifer and Michael, they're _weak_ , but he wants to be with Sam, so he follows too.

It's bright outside, so bright it washes out his vision for a while. A huge white circle radiates heat above them. He walks a few steps behind Sam, holding on to his shirt. His head swims and he tugs Sam's shirt, pulling them down to kneel on the ground. He closes his eyes and pants for breath while the world tilts around him. These bouts of strange detachment have been getting more frequent.

Bobby's voice barely manages to penetrate the fuzziness in Adam's brain. "I guess we'll just put the picnic sheet here to start with."

He lays the soft sheet on the ground, a few feet from the house. They sit on it, and Adam squints at the expanse in front of them. There's brilliant blue above them, green and brown all around, and it's so beautiful: the words for these things are on the tip of his tongue but trying to remember starts a throbbing in his temples, threatening a full blown headache. His vision blurs and he sways to the side, brushing against Sam. Sam gently tugs him down until he's lying down, head resting in Sam's lap. Dean starts talking to Sam in a low voice and Adam wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but Sam's fingers are combing through his hair, and he closes his eyes and lets his anger drain out of him.

"Hello, Adam."

Adam's eyes fly open. He's lying alone on the snow. Lucifer is standing above him, leaning over. He smiles through the flecks of blood on his face.

Adam scrambles back, rushing to get on his feet.

"Where's Sam?" His heart is pounding like it's about to burst out of his mouth.

Lucifer tsks. "So disobedient. You haven't even been gone that long."

"Sam. Please." Adam's voice is cracked, on the edge of tears.

Lucifer gestures behind him carelessly. "Don't worry. I'm taking good care of Sam. You didn't think I'd let him go, did you?"

Adam looks over, eyes drawn to the trickle of crimson through the snow, the crimson that keeps coming until it's a river of red gushing through the snow, there's so much blood, how can there be that much, he's drowning in it, sticky copper in his mouth ... Sam, where's Sam?

He bolts upright, his own shrill voice echoing in his ears. The light is blinding, and he struggles against the hands holding him, hitting out until his vision clears, and that comforting scent reaches him, and he realizes who it is.

He grabs onto Sam with both hands, pulling him in and holding him close, fists clenched on the soft flannel. His chest heaves as his lungs try to take in choking breaths, and then he's sobbing. Sam is holding him tight, hands brushing his hair and stroking his back, trying to calm him down.

"Don't let me go back, please, don't let me go, Sam."

He can't stop his frantic pleas. His skin is cold and sweaty, he feels like he's going to puke up his organs. Lucifer had him, for just a moment—he reached out and pulled Adam and Sam back in, they're not _safe_.

"You're safe. Adam, what's wrong, tell me."

Adam shakes his head, rubbing his face in Sam's shirt until his skin is tingling and he feels like he can breathe again. He hides his face there, in the crook of Sam's neck, letting the rhythmic motion of Sam's hands stroking up and down his back quieten his shaking, until finally he can talk.

"Lucifer. He pulled us back there … he had you."

"Adam, I've been here. Nothing happened, you were lying down for a while and then you started screaming."

Adam shakes his head, his stomach dropping hard. 

"Whoa, wait, I think I get what's going on," says Sam's brother, and Adam glances over. "It was just a dream. It's not real."

Adam flicks his eyes at Sam and back to Dean, says nothing.

"A dream. You know what that is, right? When you're asleep?"

Sam shakes his head silently, holds Adam. Dean swears, and presses his fist to his mouth, closes his eyes for a second. 

"Jesus Christ," he says. "What the fuck—"

\- - -

The long explanation Bobby gives does nothing to calm Adam down. So sometimes when he's asleep he'll see things, and it'll feel like it's real, but it's definitely not. And it's probably going to happen again—he can't do anything to stop it, because he needs to sleep or he'll get sick. Adam isn't entirely convinced the whole thing isn't a new illusion to torture them. He can't trust any of Dean and Bobby's reassurances that they're safe anymore, not when he can be taken away at any time, to a place that maybe isn't real but still feels like it.

Sam keeps his arms wrapped around Adam the whole time. It should be comforting but Adam can't stop the intermittent shaking of his body, the way all his muscles refuse to relax, and how his eyes keep darting around, looking for the hand of Lucifer to pull him back down there. Dean and Bobby try to make him drink his smoothie when it's time for bed but just smelling it makes him gag, and the only thing he can swallow is a few mouthfuls of water.

And then it gets dark, and the murkiness seems to wash in close and suffocate him, hardly chased off by the false pockets of light from inside. Sam and Adam are shepherded through the evening routine, a tiring repeat of the morning routine, and when it's over they're led to their separate rooms. 

He sits on the bed instead of lying down, and stares at the wall. He can't concentrate on anything, his mind feels slippery and loose, like a detached liver slopping around in an abdominal cavity. He thinks he can hear whispering, Lucifer's silken voice in his ears, but there's nothing there when he turns around. The hanging star by the window spins around slowly from an invisible breeze.

The world starts to unfocus and turn gray, and for a second he loses himself. He jerks his head back up, heart beating a frantic rhythm. He'd almost slipped back there, "fallen asleep". 

He can still hear sounds from the hallway: someone going through their own evening routine, and he's wishing they would hurry up so he can try sneaking in to Sam's room when suddenly he hears tortured and terrified screaming. 

He's out of his room and in Sam's in less than a heartbeat. Sam is tangled up in his covers, eyes squeezed tightly shut, face contorted in a hideous mask of pain as he screams. Adam jumps on the bed, grabs him by the shoulders, and shakes and shakes him—he's not going to let Lucifer take Sam: _come back, please_. Sam's head hits the headboard of the bed hard and his eyes burst open. He takes in a deep breath like he's been drowning and grabs at Adam like he's the one thing keeping him afloat.

"Sammy!"

It's Sam's brother rushing in, Bobby right behind him. He comes in so fast he almost runs into the bed frame. He kneels beside the bed, reaches out—and Sam flinches back, eyes wide in an animal-like fear. His hands dig into Adam's arms and he backs away against the wall, legs scrabbling like he's trying to melt through the solid bricks.

"Sammy, hey, stay calm. It's okay," says Dean, taking a step back, voice low and soothing. 

Adam ignores him. Sam isn't seeing Dean, not really—his mind is still dripping with the detritus of Lucifer's cage. Adam pulls his hands slowly free of Sam's grip and cradles Sam's face, directing his gaze to his face with the lightest touch. Sam's frightened eyes meet his for a second before darting away, drawn by something only he can see.

Adam starts talking softly, a low murmur of comforting sound. "Look at me, yeah, don't pay attention to anything else. I'm here, I've got you, I won't let him take you. Sam, it's me, I'll protect you, okay, don't look at anything else, it's not real, I'm the only thing here—"

Eventually Sam's breathing slows from the previous pained hyperventilation, and he meets Adam's eyes. Adam smiles.

"There we are. I'm here. You okay?"

Sam moves his head in an infinitesimal nod, chin brushing against Adam's palms. Adam brings his hands down, releasing Sam's face before picking up one of his hands and squeezing it.

"What did you see?" he asks.

\- - -

It takes a while for Sam to drag out the words for what happened—being back in the cage, Lucifer pulling Adam apart, forcing Sam to watch, and then making Sam hurt Adam. Adam listens while holding Sam's hands—a soft touch to keep Sam anchored here. Dean listens for the beginning but at some point his face turns white and he leaves. He returns at the end of the story, when Sam has stopped talking and is just collapsed against Adam, head resting on Adam's shoulder.

Dean's hair is slightly wet and sticking up, the skin around his eyes pink. "I need to talk to Sam," he says shortly. "Get back to your room and get some rest."

Adam clenches Sam's palm hard. "No," he spits out.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Get out and leave me to talk with my brother."

Adam's blood churns and words pour out of him. "I'm not doing anything, you hairless, goat-fathered abomination!"

"Adam," Sam sighs. "I'll be okay."

Adam spins around, locks his eyes with Sam's, asking a dozen questions without words. Sam just nods, and Adam's stomach sinks. His mouth feels like dust but he kneels forward in the bed, curls his arms around Sam, holding him for a long moment before he gets up and leaves the room.

He hears low voices from the room as the door closes, and the humiliation follows him all the way to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to Alyndra for beta reading--without their help this fic would have been much shorter, more bareboned, and possibly never posted at all.

He doesn't slip back into dreams that night. Sitting on the bed with its soft soft covers seems to pull his mind towards sleep, and he has several close calls where he suddenly snaps back to discover he's tilting dangerously, before he gets up. He stands in the corner of the room, the wall proving an effective deterrent when he hits his head on it when drifting off.

When it's light again his mind feels like it's full of wasps, and his skin is melting, but he survived the darkness without falling into dreams. 

It doesn't work the next night. His body is so exhausted that the wall feels strangely comfortable. He must have only been gone for a couple of heartbeats but he wakes up that night in a standing position with his head resting against it, and Lucifer's mocking voice ringing in his ears. He throws his head forward violently, hitting the wall with a smack that dents it a little. Stinging, fresh pain explodes behind his eyes, and the pounding headache keeps him awake for the rest of the night.

Things start to feel unreal in the morning. His eyes can't focus and keep watering; he feels like he's walking through melting slush—his legs numb and unresponsive. He can't concentrate on any of the conversations Bobby directs at him or Sam, his head filling up with whispering and hissing. He sees things out of the corner of his eyes, shining smudges of air that disappear when he looks them straight on. He can't tell if this is Lucifer breaking through, or the illusion breaking down.

Bobby fusses over Adam when he steps into the bright light of the bathroom. Adam just blinks at him until Bobby picks up a shiny object off the wall— _mirror_ , his minds supplies to him—and he stares at the reflection of a beautiful bruise blossoming on his forehead. He smiles and pokes at the delicate blending of magenta into blue on his skin, ignoring Bobby's questions of how it happened.

There is a horrified yell right by his ear, and something smacks the mirror out of Bobby's hand, shattering it on the floor. Adam gapes, and when Sam sinks to the ground, whimpering Lucifer's name, he runs over, through the piercing pain in his feet.

Adam goes to hold Sam, but Sam is curled up, forearms up protecting his head, and he jerks back when Adam tries to tug at them. Bobby moves in, speaking to Sam in a low, gentle voice.

Adam stands up, looks around the bathroom. There's nothing there but he can't stop his breath coming quicker or the pinpricks lighting up all over his body. His eyes catch on the shards of the mirror on the floor—he remembers what a mirror does, it's only reflections in there—but there's a glimpse of Sam's brown hair in the biggest shard by his feet and suddenly he's not so sure.

He snatches it up—the skin on his palm splits smoothly—and throws it against the wall, smashing it into tiny pieces. He does the rest for the other shards on the floor, until it's a powder of sharp light, and Bobby is yelling at him _What the hell are you doing?_.

He runs out of the room, door hitting the wall with a bang, and flies down the stairs in two leaps. His head is buzzing as he tears all the mirrors from the walls he can find, anything reflective, he can't leave any gap for Lucifer to get through. 

He stands panting when it's done, looking around at the dusting of glass like snowfall. He doesn't fight back when Dean grabs him from behind.

Dean grumbles at them while he's fixing them up, but the satisfied feeling of victory doesn't leave Adam for a while. The mirrors are gone, that's another way they've foiled Lucifer. They just need to keep from falling asleep now. 

He needs string threaded through his palm, Sam as well, and shards of mirror removed from the soles of Adam's feet. That's the best part. The shards are deep inside, and Dean needs to use something long and metal to pull them all out. He lies on the couch with his feet up, writhing and gasping at the sharp pain from nerves deep in the muscle. Sam holds his hand the whole time. When it's over he relaxes against the couch, skin damp with sweat, and smiles up at Sam. His mind feels clear and fresh, and most importantly, like he's not going to fall asleep.

They want to take Sam and Adam outside again. Adam clings to Sam as they're led to the door, but he panics when they open it, at the bright expanse of green and blue out there that could be hiding anything. He pulls Sam back by the hand until they're crouched in a corner, and he can see anything that might come at them. Dean and Bobby look worried and talk together in hushed voices before leaving the room, but it washes over Adam; the only thing he can concentrate on is Sam's warmth next to him and his hand squeezing his tightly.

"We're out. We're out, right?" he whispers to Sam.

Sam murmurs back, "I'm here," and squeezes his hand tight enough that pain radiates up his arm.

Adam gasps and pulls his hand out of Sam's grip just enough that he can pull back the bandage. He grabs Sam's hand, and pulls it to him, presses those fingers into the wound. 

"There. Press on it, really hard, please."

Sam's thumbs brushes against the string threaded in his palm, tugging on it and sending a flicker of pain through the wound. He digs his thumb into the cut, fresh blood welling up around it. Adam's eyes flutter shut and he leans against Sam, who tucks him into his body, shielding him. 

He lets Sam touch him until his whole body is shivering with pain and then he grabs Sam's hand, and clenches his free hand around it, fingernails slipping under the bandage and into the cuts, feeling warm liquid seep under his fingernails. Sam lets out a low surprised grunt.

"See," Adam whispers. "We can stay awake like this."

When Dean comes back into the room with their smoothies, their bandages are back on and the blood is sucked from their fingers.

\- - -

Adam keeps worrying away at the wound through the day. It keeps his mind sharp but he doesn't have the energy to do anything except sit there, his mind zoning out of noticing anything except the comforting presence of Sam. He reaches out to Sam and scratches away at his wound when they're left on their own and Sam does the same back.

He's rubbing his own bandage with his thumb when he hears a yell.

"Stop that! What the hell are you doing?"

Adam blinks up at Dean, shying away from the angry man in front of him. Dean has Sam's palm in his hand; he peels back the bandage, revealing the torn skin underneath. Blood drips onto the floor and Dean tries to mop it up with the cloth. Sam tries to pull his hand away but Dean holds it firmly until Sam gives up.

"Dean..." says Sam.

"Sam, are you—are you doing this to yourself?" 

Sam doesn't answer. Dean lets go of Sam and brings one hand to his mouth, accidentally smearing blood over his face. 

"Why..." he says in a lost voice, before grabbing Adam's hand suddenly, ripping off his bandage. He stares at Adam's palm for a second. "Both of you..." he starts to say before barking out a laugh. "Jesus Christ. Do you know how hard I worked to get you back, Sam? And you're just ... I'm trying my best to keep you alive and safe, but I can't—I need you to fight too."

"I'm sorry," says Sam, in a tiny voice.

"This could get infected. I just got you back, and if you die from something as stupid as this—" His voice trails off, and he reaches for Sam's hand, trying to wrap the bandage around it, pull the skin back together. "You know it's dangerous, right? It's—you could die, okay?"

Sam doesn't say anything, keeps his head down, his hair covering his face. Dean shakes Sam's hand roughly. "You know, right? You know?"

There's no response and Dean lets Sam's hand drop. Adam puts his arm around Sam as Dean backs away, running his hand through his hair.

"It doesn't matter if you don't understand," he says finally. "You can't hurt yourself, okay? I'll be upset if you do."

He leaves the room and Sam starts to take in deep, shuddering breaths. Adam curls in closer.

\- - -

Dean puts new bandages on them again, threads the skin together on their palms. Sam is cowed enough that he doesn't try touching his hand again, obeying Dean's orders, and something inside Adam whispers, how far does Sam's loyalty to Dean go? Did Dean say something? Is this why Sam hasn't touched him like that, hasn't even tried to sleep with Adam this whole time?

Adam moves onto more subtle methods of staying awake: gnawing away at the skin on the inside of his cheek and swallowing the blood. He doesn't have to listen to Dean. He's not Adam's brother, and he's not Lucifer or Michael. What does it matter if they hurt themselves? Why do they have to control everything Sam and Adam do?

When it's time for the evening routine Adam tries rebelling, and refuses to brush his teeth. Dean just ignores him and Bobby makes an effort before giving up. Adam grins to himself in his room in the dark but that night is worse than any so far. 

Everything he tries: standing up, hitting his head, scratching up his skin, is almost useless. Everything in his body is pulling him towards that other world, the pain only a minor pinprick in the overwhelming soft blanket of sleep that is smothering him. During the night he suddenly finds himself on the floor with no idea how he got there, his heart pounding and the after-image of a snowy landscape flashing in his eyes.

He tries sneaking out of his room, he needs Sam, but Sam's brother is sitting there, a shadowy figure on a chair. He shakes his head silently and Adam is so rattled, unsure if it's Dean or Michael sitting there, that he creeps back into his room and cries silently. He takes up his usual chant, whispers _triquetrum pisiform trapezium_ into the silence until it's light outside. 

When he's let out of his room he runs to Sam, buries his face in Sam's chest, and stays there until Bobby ushers them into the bathroom. Sam's face is pale and blotchy, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin tight, like his skull is pushing its way out of his face. Adam suspects he looks the same.

Dean and Bobby try to talk to them, they show them things with pictures on them, beautiful colors, with a story to go along with the images, but he can't concentrate. His hearing is muffled, and constantly running in the background is the tight crunch of footsteps in snow. 

It takes Adam a while to realize that Sam is muttering to himself, curled up with his hands held in front of his face, like he's whispering to something in them. He jerks violently when Adam touches him, and for a second his eyes focus on Adam before his gaze is lost, turned somewhere inward. Adam sits as close as he can to Sam without touching him, and blinks his dry eyes rapidly, because what is he meant to do if Sam isn't here with him.

Sam's brother brings them smoothies, but the cups are filled with something red slopping around, and Adam retches. Sam ignores his, not even curling his hand around it when Dean tries to push it into his grip.

"—don't take it we might have to ... hospital—"

"—keep trying—"

Their voices are muffled and trying to understand it makes Adam's head hurt. The crunch of snow is getting louder now, and beneath that is the sound of soft pleased chuckles. Adam sits up straight on the couch, looking around the room. He jumps up and runs to the window. It's still bright outside, but in the distance the view keeps flickering, oddly gray, like a storm coming closer. He steps back, wringing his hands. He catches a glimpse in the corner of his eye—a curtain of brown hair—and whirls around. It's just Sam, curled up, but his position doesn't look so vulnerable anymore, more like someone hiding themselves.

The room seems to shimmer, and the scant belief Adam had in this reality is rapidly crumbling. Tingling pinpricks are spreading on his arms and his throat is closing up on him. Gray starts to seep in at the edges, the focus of that tunneled vision jumping into clarity so detailed he's overwhelmed. 

How can he know if he's truly out? How did he ever believe they could escape Lucifer's grasp?

And then he hears it. 

"Of course you never left."

He lashes out, jumps at the huddled figure on the couch. 

Lucifer's flesh yields easily under his, but he never stops laughing at Adam—for believing in this, believing in Sam—and it's useless because nothing can hurt Lucifer but Adam's mind is not engaged right now, his body driven by terror and all the ugly instincts beneath the surface.

He doesn't stop fighting when he's pulled off, not until he's tied up and put in a chair. His stomach is heaving, and he's crying for Sam. The walls are rising up and up and Adam is so small, tiny in the face of Michael's rage, the angel's voice bouncing all around. He cringes away from it, he can't even understand anything except that he's angry, and oh god he's going to rip Adam apart. 

Everything goes dark.

\- - -

He's aware before he opens his eyes, but his mind is sluggish, drifting from one unconnected thought to another. There is a pounding in his head like blood pumping through veins, an ache that makes him groan. He squeezes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, rubbing his face in the soft bouncy thing underneath.

He stirs more, moves his arm, and then he feels a little pinprick of pain in the crook of his elbow. He opens his eyes and the blurry world focuses on something coming out of his skin. He feels like he's going to throw up and he reaches with his other arm to pull it out, but he's stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait, leave that in, kid."

Adam would jump but his body isn't responding quickly to anything—as it is, his heart just skips a beat when he sees the old man sitting in a chair by the bed.

Adam squints at him—he doesn't know why Bobby is in his room and he doesn't remember how he got here.

"It's an IV, it'll make you feel better," explains Bobby, before pausing and saying, "Do you feel up to talking? Because we need an explanation. I'm trying not to jump to conclusions but this is the second time you've attacked Sam."

The tone of his voice, the barely contained frustration, or accusation, makes Adam shrink back.

"Do you remember what happened?" Bobby presses.

Adam tries to thinks back—there were organs in the smoothie cups, Sam was ignoring him, _Lucifer_.

"What did you see?" 

Adam licks his lips. "Lucifer..." he whispers in a croaky voice. "He was there, I—"

He remembers thinking Sam was Lucifer all along. But it doesn't seem so certain now, like his mind is washed clean of the gunk that Lucifer liberally painted his brain with. 

"Sam," he says, because he needs him now. He inches up awkwardly, starts to pull himself up, but his head starts to swim and he feels like he's about to throw up. 

"Woah, lie down," says Bobby, standing with his arms up like he's going to push Adam down. Adam freezes but soon his body starts shaking from the effort and he collapses back down, sweat running down his temples. "You need to rest, and so does Sam. You hurt him pretty good there. You know you can't do that again, right?"

Adam just stares back, irritated by another rule he has to obey. 

Bobby lets out his breath in a tired whoosh. "It's like this," he tries. "Hurt someone too much, and they'll … _go_ … pass away. Like your mom."

"You said I could see my mom again some day."

Bobby scratches under his cap. "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I. Well, you don't always know how long it's gonna be. Might be a real long while, and you'll be stuck on your own without Sam for all that time. You don't want that, right?"

Adam shakes his head after a pause. He's been without Sam for long periods of time before, and he thinks he could wait it out, but the prospect of being stuck in this strange place without Sam is making his mouth dry out. He swallows painfully.

"All right. Then you need to go easier on Sam, no more attacking him or throwing things at him. We got an agreement?" Adam nods silently. "Get some sleep then. You don't need to worry about the dreams. Just take your smoothie and you'll be fine."

He gestures towards the cup on the table next to the bed; Adam expects to see red again, but it's a creamy yellow. Adam takes it gingerly and sniffs it before starting to suck it out from the straw. He stares at Bobby over the cup as Bobby lifts himself out of the chair, his bones creaking and popping, and leaves the room.

Adam drinks a little more before stopping. He lies back down against the bed, smoothie cup slipping down until it's propped against him. He blinks slowly, each time taking longer before he opens his eyes again. He thinks about going to find Sam.

\- - -

The next time he wakes the room is so dark he doubts his eyes are actually open. After several seconds they adjust until he can see the faint gray shapes in the room. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, putting his feet over the bed and into something wet and sticky. He recoils, snatching back his feet, and sits in a fetal position until he gradually makes out the outline of his smoothie cup overturned on the floor.

He inches down the bed and gets off at the end, standing up and making his way to the door, arms outstretched and shuffling his feet forward one step at a time. The hallway outside is silent but for the usual ticking sound. He stands still for a while, listening to see if Bobby or Dean are waiting, before walking across and slowly pushing open Sam's door. He can just make out the huddled shape of Sam underneath the covers. When he starts to walk over he stubs his toe on something and trips, falling into Sam's bed. He lands heavily on Sam, who makes an awful gasping noise as he sits bolt upright.

"Sam, Sam, it's me," Adam whispers, catching the hands Sam is waving wildly in his direction.

Sam grabs Adam's hand tightly, before reaching out a hand and brushing the tips of his fingers against Adam's face. He lets out a rattled breath. 

Adam smiles and Sam pulls him in closer, Adam crawling in until he's under the covers, huddled up against Sam's warmth. Sam wraps his arms around Adam, presses a kiss to his forehead and sighs Adam's name.

"I saw Lucifer," says Adam. "I thought ... I don't know, I thought you were him."

"Yeah," says Sam, like Adam is confirming something he already knew. "I was seeing him too. Dean says it's not real."

Adam bristles. "He doesn't know anything. Where was he? When Lucifer was, when he was—" 

His throat closes up and his words break off. He frowns to himself and Sam strokes his back up and down. "I just—I want to be with you, Sam. But they keep separating us."

"I know, I know."

Adam hugs Sam with all his strength, feeling the heavy physicality of Sam in his arms, tucked around him. He closes his eyes, lets himself soak up Sam's presence, his heartbeat gradually slowing. He tucks his hand under Sam's shirt, fingers tracing Sam's spine. He tries to walk his fingers all the way up to Sam's neck but the shirt gets in the way and he snarls, ripping his hand back.

"Why do we always have to—I hate these things!"

Sam laughs—short and surprised and helps Adam pull his shirt off. He reaches out and starts unbuttoning Adam's shirt, long fingers making quick work of it. They fall back together, skin against naked skin, and Adam sighs in contentment. He pulls his leg up and lays his head on Sam's chest, half lying on top of Sam. He feels Sam's chest rise up and down and closes his eyes, listening to the steady whoosh of blood flowing through Sam's heart.

Arousal curls in Adam's belly but the fear of rejection quashes the suggestion he wants to make. He does nothing instead and tries to be happy with just this touching. Sam's hand plays with Adam's hair, tickling the base of his skull. There's no noise. Despite the longing he's keeping pushed down, Adam's lips curve into a smile. 

He doesn't know how long it's been when the door opens. He opens his eyes, sees the light moving across the bed as the door creaks opens. There's a whisper of Sam's name. 

Then the covers are suddenly gone and Adam is being pulled by his ankle. He tries to hold onto Sam but it's too late, he's tumbling off the bed and onto the floor. Sam's brother is standing above him, lit up in the dark room like his skin is glowing. Adam recoils.

"I've had it," says Dean, pointing at Adam, and then he starts pacing, his hands constantly moving in agitation. "I'm not pretending this is okay anymore. Sammy, this is stopping _right now_. This is fucking weird, it's unhealthy, it's not good for you! This is not—is this another thing you've forgotten? The fact that you're brothers? Adam needs to go, he's dragging you down. A hospital or somewhere, I don't care, but you're never gonna get better with him here."

Adam finds his voice, shrieks, "No!"

Dean turns to look at him, his lip curled up. "What are you gonna do? All I have to do is drop you off at a hospital. They take one look at you and they'll never let you out."

Tears are streaming down Adam's face and he can barely catch a breath. Somehow, everything he went through with Lucifer and Michael is nothing compared to this. Sheer terror of losing Sam is freezing the air in his lungs, and he can only scream 'no' like some small newly-born thing.

Dean takes a step towards Adam, raises his hands, and then Sam dashes forward, arms outstretched, standing right in front of Adam. 

Dean halts, looking confused. "Sam?" he says.

Sam shakes his head. His body is shivering. 

"Don't you hurt him." His voice is barely there but when Dean tries to interrupt, he yells, suddenly loud. "Don't you hurt him!"

"Sammy ... I wasn't going to. He just, he needs help, and so do you, and you guys being together is not going to work."

"No, _no_! All this time, you were my hero, I _knew_ you would save us and now you're taking Adam away. You're not my brother! He wouldn't do this to me!"

Dean's mouth falls open just a tiny bit; his face looks like the ground has been torn from under him and he's in freefall. Adam crawls forwards till he's directly behind Sam, and holds onto his leg.

There's a soft sound of a door opening, Adam glances back, and Bobby is there, asking, "What's going on here?

Dean looks up, a wild look in his eyes. "Bobby. You get it, right? We're the only ones operating with the full deck here."

Bobby gestures for Dean to come over, a frown on his face. Dean marches over and starts whispering to him, getting more and more agitated until finally he throws his hands up and spits out, "Fine, you deal with it," and storms out of the room.

Adam and Sam back away when Bobby moves forward, Sam moving again so that he's blocking Adam with his body. Bobby holds up his hands.

"Woah, everyone calm down."

"You're not taking him!"

"No-one's doing anything right now. It's midnight. We're all under a lot of stress, we can talk in the morning. After you get some sleep, okay?"

Sam hesitates. Adam starts shaking his head, clutching onto Sam's hand.

"Please," says Bobby, exhaustion written over his face, the loose skin seeming even more disconnected from the muscle underneath than before. 

"You can't take him," pleads Sam.

"He'll still be here in the morning. I'll make sure nothing happens. I promise."

Sam hesitates and Bobby's voice turns stern suddenly, like the crack of a whip. "Sam! Step away from Adam."

Sam freezes and then his whole body relaxes, shoulders hunching in submission.

"No, no, please, Sam, I don't wanna," says Adam, grabbing at Sam's hands as Sam tries to pull away.

Sam hushes him and holds Adam's face. He rubs their noses together. His hands are shaking. "You'll be okay. I'll find you later," he says.

Adam starts crying when Sam pulls his hands away. Tears drip down his face and his nose starts running while he's led back to his room, hugging Sam's shirt to him.

\- - -

He cries for a while in his bed, wraps his body around his pillow like it can make up for having Sam there. His body feels lighter, like the pull to sleep isn't affecting him as much. He doesn't want to fall into that black space where his mind disappears anyway.

He wait until he decides it's been long enough and treads to his door as lightly as possible. He pushes it open and peers into the blackness. There's no chair with Michael-Dean sitting in it. But when he steps out he sees the lump lying across Sam's door. Bobby is completely still, eyes shut, stretched out along the hallway. There's no way for Adam to get into Sam's room without Bobby noticing him.

Adam dithers for a while before shutting his door behind himself. He can't see Sam yet but he's not ready to go back to his room to stay there alone until it's light again.

He creeps downstairs. He thinks maybe he'll look for a smoothie: he wants the green one.Then he hears rolling, clinking sounds, and a low voice complaining. He ducks down immediately, behind the couch. He holds his breath as his heart thumps in his chest. 

"… for fucking helping ... that son-of-a-bitch ..." 

It's Sam's brother. Adam crawls forward until he's under the window, where Dean's voice is loudest.

There's a sigh and the sound of Dean swallowing something. "Cas!" he calls. "I know ... I know I said I wouldn't call ... I've been ignoring everything I hear in the news, like I promised ... But you can't leave him like this!" There's a loud smash, tinkling like ice shattering. "It's been weeks and he's not getting any better. Sam is ... there's so much he doesn't remember. He doesn't even remember Bobby. I just ... I don't know him. I don't know my brother anymore."

There's the sound of ragged breathing, sniffing, a strangled, "Cas, please," before it descends into weeping.

Adam waits a while, listening to Sam's brother crying. It's strange. He doesn't know the sound of anyone crying but Sam. He tries to compare them but then he can't stop thinking about Sam crying, and hopes that Sam isn't sad on his own. He crawls back out of the room and climbs the stairs, leaning over to touch Sam's door before retreating to his own room.

\- - -

Adam spends the rest of the night with a blanket over himself rocking in the corner of his room—a comforting rhythm that quietens his mind and reminds him of Sam's arms around him. Bobby is the one to let them out of their rooms in the morning. Adam holds onto Sam's hands when he sees him but Bobby separates them when Sam has a shower, going so far as to make Adam sit outside in the hallway. Adam sits against the door, his cheek resting against the rough surface, his stomach curdling with a weight of unhappiness that he can barely deal with.

"It's good for you to spend some time apart," says Bobby, and even though Adam makes no response, the old man carries on talking. "You need to get your independence back, meet new people, see new—"

It's a relief when Bobby cuts off at the shrill tune filling in the air. Adam's eyes slide over to see Bobby pulling something, a cellphone, out of his pocket and start talking to it.

"Hey, wait, slow down," he says, turning away and taking a few steps back. "You what—?" he says after a long silence. "Hell's bells, Rufus ... yeah, I know it, just let me—" he ducks away into his room. Adam strains to hear the rest of it. "—more than 6 hours!" Bobby comes back out, clutching a collection of skin. "Just don't do anything stupid, make sure they don't find the phone ... Yeah, I'm leaving—I'm leaving right now."

Adam watches with wide eyes as Bobby shoves the phone back in his pocket and run-walks to Dean's room. Bobby barks at Dean to get up, and there's some incomprehensible mumbling in return. Bobby tries for several seconds before running out of the room. 

Bobby takes off his hat, ruffles his hair, and swears loudly. He looks down at Adam, like he's sizing Adam up, and then starts drawing on a thin sheet of skin. He folds it up and pushes it under the crack of the door, then turns around to Adam. 

"I need to leave," he says. "I've left a note for Dean; make sure he reads it when he gets up, all right? Look after yourself and Sam while I'm gone. I'm trusting you on this." His eyes are desperate, like he's trying to convince himself of that faith and Adam nods silently. Bobby strangles the hat between his hands before putting it back on, nodding to himself. "Right. I'll be back as soon as I can."

And then he's gone, rapid footsteps leaving Adam alone with only the sound of running water from Sam's shower. He stands up, and pulls the "note" out from under the door. It's full of scratches written in black blood, and the texture of the sheet is rougher than any skin Adam's felt. He looks down the hallway to where Bobby has left and to the bathroom door where he can hear the faint sounds of Sam washing under the water. He makes a decision.

He pushes Dean's door open slowly. Dean is gurgling and moaning like his lungs are punctured and he snorts loudly when Adam steps into the room.

"Uh, whaddiya saying ... Bobby?" His eyes crack open a sliver before closing again. "God, my _head_."

"Bobby's taking me and Sam outside," says Adam. "He says you should stay in bed."

Dean mumbles unintelligibly in reply before flopping over on the bed. "Yeah, I ... good. Sleep. 'Kay, Sammy."

Sam is out of the shower when Adam walks in—standing naked dripping water on the floor, rubbing himself dry. Adam feels worms squirming in his torso, and he can barely contain himself as he runs over, pulling Sam down into a passionate kiss. Sam freezes, surprised, but kisses back, resting a damp hand on Adam's waist, just touching the gap of skin between his shirt and pants. When they pull away his forehead is creased with worry.

"Adam ... I don't think we're meant to ... Dean said," he says, watching as Adam tears the note into tiny pieces, before throwing it into the sink and rinsing it away.

Adam takes Sam's hand, his stomach twisting with uncertainty. "We've only got a bit of time. Dean is still lying down, and Bobby's out. Please, it's been so long."

Sam's mouth opens a fraction and he licks his lips. "They're not watching us?"

Adam nods and Sam relaxes, a tiny smile appearing on his face that Adam returns with brilliance. They leave Sam's clothes on the floor and walk downstairs together. It's not far enough, Adam can still hear Dean's gurgling breaths.

They open the door to outside, the light is blinding, and the expanse of space stretches around them. Adam hangs back for a second, but Sam turns around, gives him a quizzical look, and the tension in his chest releases slightly. He isn't on his own.

They walk out further. It's beautiful; muted blues, sharp greens and soft browns, like it's constructed from Sam. He still can't remember what many of the objects are out here, nothing is familiar except the rotting metal skeletons of things like the black car that they saw when they were first pulled out of Lucifer's realm. They walk past the cars until they are far enough away that they can't see the house. There's a faded green car blocked in by larger cars, and Adam decides it will be the best for hiding.

It takes him and Sam a while before they can open the door and crawl into the back. Adam follows Sam, who turns around and pulls Adam on to his lap. Adam is enveloped in a tight hug, Sam pressing kisses to Adam's hair.

"God, Adam," says Sam. "I can't stand it. I want you, want you so much."

Adam captures Sam's mouth in a kiss, strokes his hands up Sam's back to anchor them in Sam's hair. His cock is stiffening, rubbing against the his pants, and he thrusts forward against Sam.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pulling away. "Fuck me, please, please—"

Sam lifts him up onto his knees, pulling his pants off while Adam wrestles to get his top off. The shirt blocks his vision for a second before it's pulled over his head, and then he sees Sam drinking him in, eyes wide and dark. 

Adam's body is vibrating with excitement as Sam reaches out a hand, gripping Adam by the waist and guiding him down. Sam's hard cock grazes him, and he sways, letting it rub between his cheeks, just catching his hole on each pass. Sam's head goes back and he groans, resting his head against the window as he gazes up with slitted eyes.

Adam can feel his cheeks slicking up from the precome and he presses down experimentally on the head. His hole expands to let in the head but only slightly and it burns. He lifts back up, hissing in surprise. It's not like it always was—wet and messy, and he's confused. Sam's hands dig into Adam's thighs.

"Just, give me a second," says Adam, and he puts his finger into his mouth, coating it in spit.

He doesn't know if this will work, but it's too dry now. He leans forward, bracing himself against Sam's shoulder as he reaches back. One finger is easy, slides right in, and he repeats it, getting his finger wet before pushing the spit in himself. Sam's eyes glint as he watches, gripping his cock in one big hand. Adam bites his lip as he stares at Sam's cock, and the bead of precome glistening on the head.

He's not sure if he's ready, but it feels easier to thrust his finger in and he can't wait any longer. He grabs Sam's cock and guides it to his hole, and it's in, pushing its way into Adam's body—a line of fire as he drops down into Sam's lap. 

Sam's hips thrust upwards, but Adam stops him, holds himself still as he tries to get used to the length splitting him open, burning him up from the inside. He tries moving and gasps at the sensations; it hurts, but fulfillment fills him at the feeling of his body and Sam's connected. He drops down and pulls back up, relishing the feeling of Sam's length rubbing inside him as it leaves, before it fills him again. 

Sam's eyes flutter as he's pulled into Adam's body and he cries out Adam's name. Adam picks up a rhythm, slamming down onto Sam's crotch, a slap-slap-slap as their skin sticks together. 

"Adam, I missed this so much, I missed you," Sam gasps, and bites down on his own hand.

Adam holds himself steady with two hands on Sam's shoulders, squirming as he slams down, trying to get just the right position to scratch that itch inside him. His cock is swinging freely, hitting his belly on each thrust, an erratic flash of pleasure. He's panting, balls pulling up as he climbs higher. Just a little more—

And then Sam grabs his hips and slams Adam down to the base of his cock hard, balls slapping against Adam's ass and hips thrusting in frantically, groaning as he comes. Adam cries out at the piston firing of Sam's cock inside him, and grabs at his own, squeezing hard and spitting out his orgasm between them.

He collapses forward, forehead resting on Sam's shoulder, and pants. He squeezes Sam's softening cock inside him. He doesn't want Sam to pull out yet. Sam sighs, rubbing his arms up Adam's body and pressing kisses to his neck.

"I love you," Sam whispers into Adam's skin, again and again.

Adam feels tears sparking up and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

"I can't stand it," he says, shaking his head back and forth, brushing against Sam's shoulder. "I just want to be with you, and they—"

Sam shushes him, touches Adam's face gently and makes him lift his head. "It's okay," he says, cupping Adam's face. "I won't let them separate us ... even if we have to leave here."

And he pulls Adam in and holds him tight. Adam relaxes against Sam's body, curling up into that warmth, and Sam kisses and strokes his hair.

They sit there for a while, long enough that the stuffy air from their activities starts to cool down. A draft from a crack in the door tickles Adam's spine and he shivers. It's not the burning cold of Lucifer that freezes his skin blue; it's just non-angelic, slightly uncomfortable cold. But what difference does it make if he feels comfortable or not? He huddles in closer to Sam but he can't stop the minute shaking that overtakes his body. 

"I'm cold," he admits.

Sam makes a noise of concern, and rubs his arms briskly down Adam's back, and then traps Adam's cold hands between his thighs. Adam smiles but he's still shivering, and Sam says hesitantly, "We could go inside?"

Adam turns and looks out the window. He can't see it from here, but in this open sea of unfamiliar space, the idea of being back in the one place he knows is somewhat comforting.

"If we had a shower..." Sam trails off.

Adam thinks of the house, always warm, with as much hot water and extra blankets as he wants. The image of standing under falling hot water, steam filling the bathroom, floats through Adam's head. He can bear this cold, he has for so long, but it hits him suddenly that he doesn't need to. It doesn't have to hurt anymore. He has a choice. 

He shifts, shivers again, then nods his head.

Adam gets out first, helping Sam, whose legs have fallen asleep, out of the car. They pick their way through the graveyard of cars, holding each other's hands. Adam's muscles are loose, his body feeling raw and new. Adam glances up at Sam and sees a flush on pink in his cheeks—he looks more vibrant and alive than he has in a long time. When they arrive at the house Sam opens the door and nudges Adam in, wrapping his body around Adam from behind, enveloping him in warmth. Adam snorts and lets Sam manhandle him before darting away, then grabbing Sam's hand and leading him up the stairs.

Dean hasn't gotten up yet. Adam tries to walk lightly down the corridor to the bathroom, easing open the door quietly—he doesn't want this moment between just him and Sam broken yet. They both muddle through getting the hot water to come out of the shower—it's alternately too hot or too cold, until they get it just right. They step in together and Adam sighs as the hot water cascades over his shoulders. Sam brushes his hand up Adam's neck and into his hair, and Adam thinks about how this moment right now, is okay—it's different from the cage, no one to tell them what to do, but he's not paralyzed by this unfamiliar freedom if he has Sam. They can navigate it together.

Sam massages his fingertips into Adam's scalp, a smile curving his lips. 

Adam looks up at him through half-closed eyes and asks, "What are you thinking about?"

"I was just remembering," says Sam, "when we had that time together on our own down there. Lucifer and Michael were busy fighting each other, and you came to find me."

Adam nods and brings up his arm to circle Sam's hip. It was the happiest he can ever remember feeling.

Sam swallows. "I was ... I was really close to giving up then. And then you, you saved me ... and that time with you gave me the strength to keep going, even when Lucifer took us back."

"I thought ... what about Dean?"

Sam shakes his head. "That wasn't what got me through everything. I waited a long time to see Dean again, and I want it to work out here, but you're the most important thing to me. I can't do this ... not without you."

Adam's eyes sting and he ducks his head. He doesn't know how to address Sam's hopes for things with Dean, but he wants to return everything Sam said about Adam. Eventually he just manages to whisper, "Me too ... I love you too."

They hold each other under the shower, water washing away any tears as it runs over their entwined bodies. Sam's chest moves against his body, so close that it feels like they are breathing as one; their forms wrapped together so tightly that no one, not even Dean or Bobby, could pull them apart.


End file.
